


Companion

by Searece



Series: Memories and Times [23]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Blind Character, Gen, Guide dog/wolf, Prowl - Freeform, Werebot/Mechawolf, Werewolf, who you should prolly know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7845286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Searece/pseuds/Searece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz is a blind bot.  Prowl is a "werewolf" (see the tags) wanting to get away from enforcer work into a more "civilian" occupation, aka being a guide dog (wolf).  I think.  It's been a while since I wrote this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Companion

**Author's Note:**

> I have no experience being entirely blind, though I am quite near-sited and have astigmatism. I have no experience with guide dogs and have barely researched it. If you know more about either of these two subjects, or if something seems very wrong about something in this fic, please correct me. If anyone wants to inform me of anything more about Tumbler/Chromedome, feel free. I didn't think to look him up on tfwiki as I wrote this so he's probs OOC.

Every day he experienced the same things over and over again. There was hardly any change in his world with as limited as it truly was. His limits made him feel useless. He had no desire to feel that way any longer, but what could he do?

A whole heaping of "nothing" was the answer. Nobody around him would let him do a thing, and when he tried, they would only chuckle and do it for him.

He didn't want to be dependent on them; they didn't understand how helpless he felt when they did things for him.

Things hadn't always been so miserable in his opinion, but that was before the accident.

He sighed as the familiar feeling of self-loathing crept upon him, feeding his doubts and hateful thoughts. His fists clenched as he shuttered his optics, but relaxed his tense frame a moment later. He could feel tears prick at his optics.

"Sweetspark!" called his carrier abruptly, though right when he expected it. "Wake up!" she walked into his room without him saying a word. She never let him respond anymore, at least when he was in his berth. Or any place, really.

He resisted the sharp urge to scowl at the thoughts, knowing she would only fret more. He sighed softly and tilted his helm in her direction. She stopped beside his berth, probably staring at him while waiting for him to open his optics, which he did rather quickly because he didn't want her staring at him for so long.

Immediately she prattled on and on, which Jazz knew was a front to hide her nervousness. Even she knew that; she'd confessed such to him a while ago, back when he could still tell her expressions.

Gently her servo touched his wrist, gripping gently before pulling him up in a sitting position. He grunted, disliking the forceful action. She apologized immediately and claimed that she'd forgotten his condition. He nearly gaped, fury rising inside him. Forget? How could she forget?! His lips thinned as he pressed them together.

"Oh, don't pitch a fit," she commented after seeing the gesture. On most days, as he was mostly silent, she had to know how to read his body language instead of his lips. Most of the time she thought she guessed his mood correctly, but then most of the time she also ignored his droopy helm finials.

Jazz sighed in suppressed frustration. He was starting to dislike his carrier. Severely dislike. He could pitch whatever kind of fit he wanted to.

"Come along, Jazz," she practically sang and proceeded to guide the smaller Polyhexian around the house to the kitchen so she could get him his energon.

Once he was sitting at the kitchen "bar" propped up on one of the tall stools and careful not to move, he listened with a bowed helm as his carrier hummed her way around the kitchen. A couple soft clinks sounded in front of him, which he knew to be his daily ration of energon and a few rust goodies. His servo groped forward at the sound, and both the plate of goodies and energon touched his servos. That was entirely unnecessary for his carrier to do. He could find it by himself.

"Thank you, carrier," he said dryly, "I just couldn't manage without you shoving it into my servo."

His carrier probably blinked in astonishment, but he didn't try to look. He couldn't feel her EM field, either, which he didn't like but couldn't change.

"Finish your meal, Jazz, so we can go," she said a bit too loudly gien Jazz's sensitive audio receptors. He tried not to flinch at the sound, suddenly paying attention to the sounds outside of his home that he'd been trying to ignore. Mecha and transports rushed outside his home, sounding close—too close!—while the city's crystal gardens (a pale imitation of Praxus', Jazz knew) chimed blocks away.

He vented harshly, shuttering his optics wildly as he clutched at the tabletop.

'Primus,' he cursed to himself, trying to resist writhing in pain as his auditory system tried to shut down again. He shuddered, helm bowing. His carrier softly massaged his helm, knowing that a gentle touch helped sooth him.

He tensed and dreaded the next stage of the "assault" that was to come. His audials flattened against his helm as he whimpered softly at the ringing starting up. His body shook, delirious from pain.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that before he "woke" to feel his balance situated on the floor. A huff escaped him as he realized he'd blacked out and probably started convulsing again.

"We're not going out today," firmly decided his carrier as she helped him sit up.

"Carrier, please! At least to the gardens?" he protested over her attempted speaking over him. Well wasn't he being chatty.

She remained silent for a few moments, weighing his words. Eventually she sighed, rubbing his helm gently. "I'll call them to meet us there."

"Thank you," he softly said, stumbling to his pedes resolutely. He wasn't going to miss his chance to go out today. Carefully, he sat back down to finish his meal, which he did surprisingly quickly given his usual habit for taking at least thirty minutes, though he usually liked to relax and take what enjoyment from his life he could. Soon enough he was chirping and hopping up from his seat, feeling his way around his home slowly and dizzily before his carrier came back into the kitchen and chose to grab his arm and lead him out. He would have frowned had he not been excited about getting to the gardens.

One very long walk later, and many rude comments from passersby, Jazz very contently sat on a crystal-encrusted stone bench while he waited for the trainers to arrive. He fidgeted nervously as he listened to his carrier pace behind him. "Are you sure they'll show?" he asked her in a trembling voice.

"They said they'd meet us here, Jazz," lectured his carrier, "and they never go back on their word."

"Okay, but—" he was interrupted by a call.

"Excuse me, but are you Rhythm, Jazz's carrier?"

"Indeed I am," he heard her walk away, towards the approaching mech, "you must be one of the trainers?"

"Of course. And that little mech over there is Jazz himself, right?"

"Yeah I am!" he called, his voice colored with irritation as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Thank you so much for actually noticing me." That was only partially sarcastic.

"You're welcome," chuckled the trainer, either not noticing or not caring about the sarcasm. "Now, why don't we introduce you to our guides?"

Jazz nodded in excitement at the prospect, a smile coating his face. He practically vibrated in excitement as he turned his helm in the trainer's direction.

"Alright. One at a time then," chuckled the mech. Personally, Jazz believed him to be a Kaonite by the harmonics in his voice, which was rough and growly by nature.

"Are you a Kaonite?" he asked to confirm his suspicions.

"Yes, indeed I am. How did you know?"

"Your voice has the subharmonics of one, and also the dialect you speak in sounds really similar to a couple Kaonite friends of mine."

The tone of the trainer's engine picked up, showing his surprise. "What are their names?"

"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe," he answered with a smile, "They're twins." He'd shared some amazing memories with the pair, including his first interface though his carrier didn't know that.

"Ah, I know them; Sunstreaker is an artist and Sideswipe is a merchant."

"Awesome," he smiled more, liking this trainer and hoping that this trainer's guide was like him. When he heard panting approach his position, he smiled even wider and turned to face the panting.

"This," Jazz hadn't realized the trainer had moved closer, "is Dart. Jazz, set your servo out, palm up, please."

Nervously, Jazz did so and tried in vain to extend his EM field for the canine to scent and feel. The canine, however, gave no reaction other than something that sounded like a huff. Dart padded away to his trainer and barked softly, as if asking, "What am I meant to do here?"

Jazz frowned at the lack of response and drooped as he pulled his servo back.

"It's okay, Jazz, there's still some mechadogs left. Dart isn't the only one we brought."

The blind mech hung his helm, murmuring, "But none of them can feel my EM field, can they?" If they couldn't feel his field, they wouldn't recognize that he was a bot who needed their help.

The trainer didn't say anything as he and Dart walked away with a sigh. Four more trainer and service mechadog pairs inspected him, and he was more than halfway to crying by the time the last trainer led his dog up to him.

"All right, Jazz, last one… This mech here is a little different. He's actually a cyberwolf."

Jazz's dull optics brightened, "Really, a live cyberwolf?"

"Yes," the mech chuckled, "a real live cyberwolf. He's been around meccha since he was born."

"Did you raise him, then? What's his name? What's yours?"

"Jazz!" interrupted his carrier with a small chuckle, "One question at a time."

"Oops, sorry," Jazz bowed his helm in apology.

"No need to worry about it. I didn't directly raise him, but I was near him while he was still a pup. His name is Prowl and mine is Tumbler." The Iaconain's voice was happy.

Tumbler? Honestly, that didn't sound like a very Iaconian-like name, though his creators could have been not from Iacon. Huh. Jazz thought it was rather cute, though he also didn't know what the mech looked like, which probably had something to do with why he thought it was cute.

"Prowl? Why's he named that?" inquired the Polyhexian. Just then, he felt a sniff against his servo and a wet glossa lapping against it.

"He's very quiet." The Iaconian smirked as the little mecha's face brightened.

"So I can tell," chuckled Jazz, "Very, very quiet puppy," he cooed as he stretched his servo forward, palm up. The cyberwolf's glossa continued lapping at his servo, a yip even escaping it.

"That's the happiest sound that's escaped him all vorn."

Jazz, despite hearing the words, didn't respond to them as the cyberwolf sought out his other servo and started licking it. "Aww," cooed the small mech, "he likes me. Right, don't you like me, Prowl?"

The cyberwolf barked softly as if in answer as it stopped licking his hand and propped its helm on his knee.

"Aww, hey 'dere puppy," Jazz cooed some more as he touched its olfactory cover and ran his slim servodigits over its helm to start mapping out the structure of its frame. Suddenly his world seemed so much more hopeful than just minutes before. From feeling its helm, he could tell it was fierce in looks, if he judged by its sharp armor pricking lightly at his fingertips. Its audios twitched under his digits and its jaw had tiny sharp spikes.

"What color is he?" Jazz asked the trainer.

"Mostly white, though parts of him are black. From what of Polyhexian biology I understand, you should be able to tell which is which."

"Yeah," Jazz trailed off, not sure what to say. Often in Polyhexian servos there was a piece of glass that functioned much like an optic, though in a more limited capacity of only being able to see colors at very close range. Jazz's, however, didn't work. Or at least, didn't work like they were supposed to, which meant that he couldn't control when they turned on or how active they were.

"Only sometimes," he finally said, "My blindness affects more than my optics."

"Ah, okay. Would you like to learn how to use him as a guide now?"

"Wait," interrupted his carrier, making Jazz frown, "a cyberwolf, are you sure? Aren't they dangerous?" Her voice was a bit panicky, but Jazz avoided analyzing it too much.

"Everything is dangerous to some extent. Prowl knows his limits and how to handle mecha," Tumbler explained patiently.

"Carrier, please just give Prowl a chance," begged Jazz in hopes his carrier would listen to him. Surprisingly, she did.

"All right," she said after a moment of thought.

"Thank you. Tumbler?"

"All right, Jazz, stand up."

The Polyhexian stood up and immediately felt the cyberwolf pad away. Disappointment clawed at his spark, but he quickly reined it in as he reminded himself that if Primus felt like it, Prowl would be able to stay with him. Maybe Primus would also feel like softening up Rhythm a bit too, if Jazz was lucky. Jazz nearly chuckled at the thought. Him, lucky? What a joke.

"Now, Jazz," began Tumbler "First I'll teach you how to call him. He'll need to learn how you call him, so this may take some time."

"I'll give him all the time he needs," promised Jazz with a smile.

"Good, sometimes he's stubborn, though he learns fairly quickly."

"So it's really just a matter of it he'll do what I say, right?" tried to joke Jazz.

"Exactly," smirked Tumbler.

"Well, I'm sure he'll do what I say if I give him treats. That is, can I give him treats?"

"Absolutely, provided they aren't his meals."

Understanding what the trainer meant, Jazz chuckled. "I won't spoil him like that," promised Jazz, "though I can't promise I won't give him constant attention."

The trainer chuckled loudly at that. "Fine with me. Poor pup always craved attention."

Jazz giggled softly at that, knowing that he would be sure to shower the wolf with all the attention he deserved and more. Suddenly he heard a sharp, piercing sound. He cringed in response and covered his audios as best he could. "What is that noise?" he whimpered. It stopped and he drooped in relief.

"You can hear that?"

Jazz shot an incredulous look in Tumbler's direction. "Yes! Now what was it?"

"A dog whistle."

Jazz scowled. "If you use that to call Prowl," and he could already hear the cyberwolf's step rustling back toward the trainer from where it had wandered off, "I know I'm not. That thing hurts my head."

"I'm surprised you can hear it." Surprise certainly colored his tone.

"I'm not," scowled the small mech as he crossed his arms over his chest, "My audials are the most sensitive things on me, especially with the lack of all my other senses."

"Have you ever had a sensitivity test done?" asked Tumbler out of pure curiosity.

"Never had a need."

"You should get one done; they're really quite informative."

"I'll talk with carrier about it," he smiled a bit, "Now how do I call Prowl without that dumb whistle?"

"Develop your own whistle for him to learn, or call his name."

"Will he come if I call his name?" Jazz doubted it.

"Eventually. Now call him."

"Uh, okay. Prowl, here, mech," he tentatively did so, holding his servo out.

A soft whine was Prowl's response, and Jazz absently mused that this would be a long day as the trainer tried to encourage Prowl to go to Jazz.

.

.

.

~end~


End file.
